


Leopold James Fitz

by FitzsimmonsForever



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Comfort, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Framework Universe (Marvel), They Hug, post framework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FitzsimmonsForever/pseuds/FitzsimmonsForever
Summary: Jemma reflects on the habits Fitz picks up from the Framework and tries to shield him from his fears.





	Leopold James Fitz

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. This fanfic was also for my tumblr prompt-a-thon thing. But… it was prompted by me… cause…. I really wanted to write it. XD
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy and please feel free to follow me on tumblr at Fitzsimmonsforlife. <3

There are a few habits Fitz picks up from his time in the Framework. Most of them are little things, things a normal person wouldn't even notice unless they had been close to the man both before and after the event. 

But, of course, Jemma notices. 

She notices everything, from the slight tremors in his hands to the way he can no longer meet people in the eye when they are talking to him. His stutter is back- not bad, but enough for him to have to pause in conversations with her to recollect himself a couple of times. She notices the way he shuts himself in his quarters so he wont have to talk to anyone, notices that whenever more than four or five people are in the room, he simply leaves. 

Jemma thinks the worst is the cleanliness. 

He obsesses about his appearance, about the state of his clothes, about the smudges on his shoes, about the mud on the tile. It’s a problem she isn’t quite sure how to address. 

Today, she walks in on him organizing pens by color and brand, pencils already arranged in a row by height. Paperclips are lined up like soldiers along the edge of the wood and the once unruly pile of papers has been organized into a straight stack. 

"Fitz, what are you doing? You know you don't have to clean any of this. It's fine the way it is," she says gently, grabbing one of his hands off the table. His fingers are cold in hers, and she pulls him to his feet, guiding him away from the desk table and over to the couch in the corner. 

He sits without her telling him to, and she lowers down onto the cushion next to him, pressing her body to his. 

His free hand is already brushing at the place where she wrinkled his shirt, trying to smooth away the creases before they can appear. 

"Hey hey hey, stop that," she says.

"Sorry, Jemma," he mumbles back. "You know I can't help it." 

She doesn't answer, instead rubbing her hand slowly against his shoulder, letting him relax into her touch. He is always tense these days, as if at any second of any moment he had to be ready to move. It put her on edge too. 

"How's today been?" he asks her, thickly. He's holding back tears and she pretends not to notice, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

"Oh nothing too out of the ordinary.”

She tells him about her day, about the little things she had done, about cleaning out a file folder, what she ate for breakfast, how she chose which blouse to wear. Even though he is listening, she can tell a part of him is still not there, a part of him that she thinks he left forever in the Framework. 

Part of her hopes that one day, she can help Fitz find that part of him. But she knows that he is different now. Not all in good ways, yes, but she wouldn’t want to change him into something that wasn’t ultimately- well- him. 

They sit together in silence, side by side, what they aren’t saying heavy between them. Eventually, the silence becomes too much. 

“I can’t stop thinking I’m just like him… just like Ward.” These words shatter the silence like a hammer against glass. 

“Leopold Fitz,” she says immediately, and his face goes white, then an odd shade of green. 

“Don’t. P-p-please don’t call.. Don’t call me that.” 

His voice is shaky, and she is reminded again of the box under the ocean, of when she had almost lost him for good. 

“Fitz, that’s your name,” she says with a soft, gentle voice. 

It is another thing he picked up in the Framework, another habit that he can’t seem to drop. Every time someone called him by his first name he would get like this. Jemma wished she could understand even for a moment how he could have become so different. 

Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so useless and be able to do something about it. 

“That’s what he used to call me.” 

She holds her breath and doesn’t say anything, letting him speak. 

He is wiping at a nonexistent stain on his pants, fingers pushing so hard against the black fabric that his knuckles turn pale. 

“Everyone here- they call me Fitz. But there, my-“ he swallows. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers. 

_It’s not okay. You’re not okay,_ she thinks to herself. 

“My father called me Leopold. Ophelia… Everyone at HYDRA,” he finishes, and suddenly, it’s clear to her. 

“Fitz,” she says as gently as possible. “I know it hurts to remember that- _I know_.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but his body curls a little bit into itself, almost imperceptibly. 

“But you-“ she pauses, her voice cracking, a tear sliding down her face. “You are Leopold Fitz, one of the brightest, kindest people I have ever known. I don’t want you to forget who you are just because of what she made you do.” 

“But she didn’t make me, Jemma!” 

He pushes her away forcefully, scrambling apart from her. His breath comes in huge, violent gasps. 

“She didn’t make me do any of those things! Do you understand that? Do you understand what I did? What I wanted to do?” He’s sobbing again, and she sits on the edge of the couch, hands desperate to reach for him. 

It is exhausting, this back and forth game they’ve been playing. Every day it’s like this, Fitz seeming fine for a moment, the next shouting and crying. 

But it’s a game she’s happy to play, a fight she is willing to throw herself into until she is weak, until she can help him even just a little bit. 

So he cries and when she thinks he is ready, she pulls him to her, encouraged when he does not push her away again. 

“Listen to me,” she whispers into his hair. His breath is still coming in little gasps, but she can feel him calming down under her touch. 

“Yes, you did those things. But it was under different circumstances. Now you are out of it. You are free. Your father can’t take away who you are. The framework can’t take away who you are, okay?”

He nods and for the second time that day, looks straight into her eyes. There is so much pain there, but now she can see a light flickering faintly in the depths of his eyes. 

She wipes the tears gently from his cheeks. He leans into her touch. 

“You are Leopold James Fitz. And nothing can change that.” 


End file.
